Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.

Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.

The perverseness of my fate is such that he's not mine because he's mine too much.

A thing well said will be wit in all languages.

If you are for a merry jaunt, I will try, for once, who can foot it farthest.

We first make our habits, and then our habits make us.

Not to ask is not be denied.